Black and Blue
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: "I swear, when I asked Tweek out to the Spring dance, I was under the impression that he was a girl." TWYLE. SHORT.
1. Chapter 1

**I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**A/N: I'm trying this great new thing where my characters all actually have distinct personalities and voices that fit into cannon. Wowzers! **

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KYLE'S POINT OF VIEW

I swear to God, when I asked Tweek out to the Junior Spring dance, I was under the impression that he was a girl. I mean- I haven't been in the same class with the guy since the fifth grade; how the hell was I supposed to know what he looked like? How the hell was I supposed the know that he grew his hair out to his shoulders? I swear, from the back, all I saw was a messy ponytail and slightly curved hips. Plus, he was talking to Playgirl-model-in-training Craig Tucker. The guy's basically a freakin' lady magnet; I just thought that Tweek was one of Craig's intense female followers or something.

Okay, okay, so maybe I'm just conjuring up excuses because I refuse to believe that I thought Tweek looked strangely attractive from the back. I'm not gay, I swear. And I'm not homophobic or anything; I just don't play for that team.

Obviously Tweek does though, because he said yes. And he invited me to come over to his house, which is rumored to be a huge freaking witch hole. And I only have two hours before I need pack my flashlight and pocketknife to venture into his realm.

Kenny peered over the desk to lean on my chair. "Like whatcha see, Kyle?" he snickered, catlike blue eyes following my gaze.

So I might've spent the last few minutes staring at this blonde girl who was chatting it up with Craig. Long frazzled hair was tied up in a bun, and she laughed to some lame joke Craig made. I didn't really notice that she was wearing heavy combat boots, or a tattered gray button-down, or baggy jeans.

"Kinda. What's her name?" I asked, averting my gaze as she looked back. I didn't see her face, but I caught a glimpse of her deep brown eyes. They looked untrusting, but warm and sweet. Sort of like chocolate that's been mixed with cyanide.

"I dunno. You haven't asked anyone out for the Spring Formal, though, have you?" He asked. I shook my head. "Then ask her to go with you."

I pondered the idea for a moment. I hadn't chosen the lucky girl who would accompany me to the Spring formal. None of them seemed like particularly desirable dates, so I decided against asking. I shrugged; the worst that could happen at this point was that I could get turned down, so I agreed.

"Ask her for me," I muttered, pleadingly staring at Kenny. Next to Craig, he was the runner up for the Playgirl-model-in-training. He even tended to get more girlfriends because he had something Craig didn't: charisma. I figured that Ken could put in a good word for me or something. Convince her that I wasn't just any kid who was creepily staring at her for the past few minutes.

"You're going all shy now? Must be some girl," Kenny laughed, punching my shoulder lightly.

"No! I'm just not... You're putting me on the spot!" I snap, smacking Kenny's arm. I was a little red, and a little more annoyed.

"Jesus, if you're gonna be a pussy, then just write her a note or something and give it to her!" Kenny rubbed his arm, feigning hurt. He threw me a half-broken pen and a ripped me a piece of paper from the back of his homework.

"Okay, okay, god," I mumbled, scrawling out; 'GO TO THE DANCE WITH ME?' in big letters. I drew a little heart in the corner and took a breath.

With a rush of exhilaration that I made me feel like I was in middle school, I shuffled over to where that girl and Craig were talking. I tapped on her back, looked down in embarrassment, and handed her the note. I heard a snort of amusement, and a bony-fingered hand snatched the paper away. I waited, red faced and nervous, until I felt a rough hand on my shoulder. My first thought was that I just asked out Craig Tucker's girlfriend and that he was going to beat the living shit out of me.

"Ngh- yeah, I'll go -eh- with you," my head shot up, eyes wide. The voice was not what I thought it would be. It was deep, and strained, and freakishly familiar. When I seen his face, I near screamed. I could hear Kenny roaring with laughter behind me.

It was a guy. Not just any guy, though. Tweek Tweak. He had a small grin on his pink, full lips, and a long strand of hair twirled around one finger.

"You're -Gah- not just tugging my leg, right? This ain't -Ngh- some dumb joke, right?" Behind Tweek, Craig gave me a seriously brutal death glare. I mean, it's the kind of look that old folks give kids from their windows when they're out trick-or-treating past ten. Fearing that I was going to get beat if I said 'yes', I quickly pulled a brave face and faked it.

"No, dude... I'm just... shocked you said yes, that's all," I stammered out. Tweek smiled as if he knew something I didn't and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Prove -Gah- it," Tweek said. He frowned biting his lip. I guessed that people had asked him out as a joke before.

"Right now?" I asked, eyes wide. I risked a glance towards Kenny. He had stopped laughing, and was now staring at me with his brow furrowed in thought.

"Yeah. -Ngh- kiss me. Right now," Tweek challenged. I began to stutter out a protest, but seeing as he wasn't likely to let it go, I nodded and swallowed hard.

I closed my eyes, pursed my lips, and leaned forward. Tweek stopped me before I made contact with his chapped lips. He grinned nervously and kissed my cheek. I tried not to cringe, and I tried to pretend that it didn't make me feel all weird and warm. He toyed with the loose strands of long blond hair, biting his lip and looking down anxiously.

"Okay, -Ngh- I believe you. But just in case, -Gah!- do you want to come over tonight?" Tweek asked, jittering from his ponytail to his steel-toed boots. He had a dumb smile on his face, showing off his coffee-stained crooked teeth. "I mean, if you're -heh- not busy."

"Uh- yeah, sure. I'll be over at 6:00," I smiled, trying to look friendly. Tweek snorted, eyes darting to the floor and then back to me. He lunged forward and kissed my cheek chastely again before excusing himself to the restrooms.

I sighed, glad that he was out of my hair. He seemed really happy, though, which was good, I guess. A few seconds after he stepped out the door, Craig rocketed himself forward so that his large nose was prodding mine. He gripped my shirt like he wanted to toss me out of the window. I spat in his eye. He growled and flipped me off, tilting my chin up with his middle finger.

"Listen here, faggot," Craig snarled, "You think you're gonna get a kick outta fuckin' with Tweek? You ain't. Cause if I get even the slightest premonition that you hurt him in any way, I'll strip you naked, tie you up, and toss you into Stark's Pond so goddamn fast- your head's gonna be spinning. Got it?"

"Got a raging boner for the Freaky-Tweeky, much?" I growled back, a snide tone to my voice.

"I'll whoop your ass right here, Broflovski. But look, Tweek likes you. I mean really, really likes you. Wouldn't've let his lips touch your gross face if he didn't. Don't hurt him, okay? I'll beat you, I swear," Craig threatened, releasing me. I dusted off my shirt, baring my teeth at him.

I flipped him off and began to walk back towards Kenny. Craig snagged my coat again, and I felt like screaming.

"What?!" I snapped.

"His favorite movie is 'The Truman Show'. He likes movies," Craig said. I nodded with a skeptical gaze and a cocked brow. Craig released me, turning his attention to his book and flipping to a random page. I shook my head and walked back to where Kenny sat. He was no longer grinning.

"Damn," he said. "You really screwed yourself over this time, Broflovski."


	2. Chapter 2

**I DONT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**A/N: Official last day of school. It's summer time, bitches. Which, coincidentally, means that I'll spend a lot of time inside, in the dark, writing gay Fanfiction. Feel blessed.**

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KYLE'S POV

I knocked on Tweek's old wooden door. His house loomed over me like a monster, jaws open and salivating. After a short pause, the door swung open and Mrs. Tweak greeted me with open arms.

"Welcome! Come on in out of the cold, sweetie, you'll get cancer. Tweek told me he was having a friend over tonight," I nodded with an awkward smile. I hung up my coat on the rack and kicked off my boots.

Apparently, the Tweaks weren't aware that it was two months past Christmas. A Christmas tree was placed in their living room, garland and tinsel lighting up the branches. Candy cane decorations were thrown around the walls, and I could smell gingerbread cooking in the oven.

"He's upstairs on his computer. Don't be shy! My little boy can be very off-setting and strange, but he's a sweetie," Mrs. Tweak assured me. She informed me that we'd be having spaghetti for diner and asked if I had any food preferences. I smiled.

"I'm a vegetarian," I said. "If that's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all, hon. I'll separate the plain sauce from the meat sauce then," She nodded cheerfully and headed back to the kitchen.

I shrugged to nobody in particular and slowly stepped up the stairs. I turned into Tweek's room, which, since he hadn't moved his living space since the fourth grade, was right to the left of the staircase.

Walking in, I could hardly recognize it as a teenage boy's room. Drawings and posters covered every inch of the wall, so much so that I could not see the paint underneath. Stacks of paper as high as my waist littered the floor. They were all neatly clipped together, but had been spread around the room as if someone were reading them recently. I was about to walk out until I seen a shock of Tweek's blond hair.

"What's all this for; school?" I asked semi-curiously. Tweek jumped in surprise, shoving a hand in his mouth to keep from screaming. Once his brain was aware that it was only me, and not a mass murderer, Tweek calmed down. He shook his head and plucked himself out of his chair.

"I -Ngh- write screenplays. -Gah- this one's my new script. I've only got 4,340 words -gah- in so far," Tweek said, gesturing for us to get out of his room. He practically shoved me out with his shaking hands. "My room's -Ngh- a mess. Let's go -Ngh- downstairs, please?" He gave me a pleading look.

I nodded, letting Tweek lead me to the basement. Compared to the rest of Tweek's house, the basement looked beautiful. It was really just a regular basement, just without the typical clutter of the Tweak household. A few football banners hung up on the walls, and a couch and TV set lay in the corner.

"I -Gah- really wanna kiss you," Tweek admitted, shoving his red face into his arm. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Tweek," I muttered back, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

I tried to wonder what I'd see in Tweek if I was genuinely interested in him. Maybe his fragile figure, or his clean long hair, or his mud brown eyes. Maybe it'd be more subtle, though. I could've grown to like his constant aim for approval, or that he smelled like vanilla coffee.

I didn't think too hard, though, because in the short time after I had spoken, Tweek had his lips pressed firmly against mine. His arms carefully supported my back, letting me use him as a balance because my knees fell out from shock.

Tweek tilted my head up and began to gently kiss my jaw and neck. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't feel at all good. I bit my lip, feeling a little sick. I abruptly pushed Tweek's face away, palms only barely moving his soft cheek.

"Do -Ngh- you want me to stop? -Gah- you look uncomfortable," Tweek apologized, letting my head fall in the crook of his neck. I nodded, peeling myself away from him an sitting down on the couch.

"It's cool, Tweek. Just- wow, I didn't think you'd be so forward," I sighed, trying to catch my breath.

"I'm sorry! Please -Gah- don't be mad," Tweek shivered, his big round eyes glistening over with tears. I bit my lip, feeling like a weight was being dropped on my stomach.

"Don't cry, dude," I murmured. "Let's just watch a movie or something."

Tweek lit up instantly. "What do you wanna watch?" he asked, wiping his eyes and grinning.

"You pick," I said back.

Tweek mumbled something about pressure, then ran to the movie rack next to his television. He picked out The Truman Show, and shoved it in the VCR box. I raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, that's gotta be what- ancient technology by now?" I said skeptically.

Tweek stuck his tongue out at me. "Shut -Ngh- up. The original formatting is the best," he snapped.

"But come on, you gotta admit the remastered versions have better video quality," I reasoned. Tweek cocked an unamused eyebrow at me.

"Tell that to -ngh- George Lucas and Stephen -Gah- Speilburg," Tweek shot back. I cringed.

Tweek put the movie in, smiling in anticipation as he crawled from the screen to right in front of the couch. He pulled his knees to his chest.

"You can sit up here, man. I don't care," I said, politely tapping the spot next to me.

Tweek bit his lip, looked at me for approval, then gingerly sat next to me. "Thanks," he whispered, watching the television.

We watched without a single pause of words from Tweek. He seemed to know every little error, every mistake, and every Easter egg in the film. He could quote whole scenes without a skipped beat. Craig wasn't kidding when he told me that this movie was Tweek's favorite.

"See that there? That's the guy who composed all the music in the film! If you look, you'll see that he's right there working the synthesizer!"

"Notice how he's wearing a green shirt. In the next shot of him he's wearing a blue shirt!"

He kept rattling off every bit of information. I smiled, far more interested with Tweek than with the movie. His over enthusiasm was cute. Tweek gave me a nervous glance.

"I'm -Gah- annoying you, aren't I?" Tweek bit his lip.

"No," I laughed, "keep going."

Tweek returned to his commentary with a grin that split his face in half. It was around then that I noticed my hand. There was a smooth, think mask of powder coating my palm. I scrunched my brow in confusion, then risked a glance at Tweek. He was too entranced in his movie to notice me. My eyes darted to him again, then back to the powder. I brought it up to my nose and sniffed it. Strangely, it smelled just like my mother's coverup that she used to hide her wrinkles and moles when company came over.

I licked my hand. With a sense of doubt, my hand shot forwards and I wiped it down Tweek's face. More of the powder covered my hand. I looked up at Tweek, trying to figure out why in god's name he'd be wearing makeup.

"Kyle, -ngh- sick! I'm going to get salmonella or -gah- something now! What's wrong -ngh- with you?!" Tweek screamed, leaping off the couch and staring at me in confusion and terror.

"You're wearing chick makeup, man. Like, my mom wears that," I said back. Tweek's face went red. He touched his cheek.

"So? I have -gah- acne," Tweek defended, looking embarrassed.

Now, I could've just nodded and let it go. Figured that, yeah, I've humiliated this poor kid enough. But that's more of what Stan would do. And I'm not only stubborn in finding out the truth, I'm downright cruel.

"You're a liar. Pause the movie. We're going to the bathroom to wash that garbage off," I demanded, crossing my arms.

"Kyle, please-" I cut him off, grabbing his arm and navigating my way up the stairs.

Most of the houses in South Park were built with one common floor plan in mind. If you knew your own house, you knew everyone else's. and Tweek's home was no exception. I managed to yank him to his bathroom and sit him on the toilet with no trouble.

Tweek jerked and twitched on the toilet seat, tugging at his clothes. I wet a washrag with warm water, then began to rub off the makeup on Tweek's face. He closed his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

I had to really rough up Tweek's face to clear only a bit. I managed to get the stuff off of Tweek's forehead first, then began on his cheeks. As soon as I uncovered his pale skin, my breath caught. Underneath the flawless coverup was a huge, deep purple bruise. I scrunched my brow, working harder to get the rest of the makeup off of Tweek's face.

Without it, he hardly looked like the same boy. His whole face was more or less puffy and beat up. It was black and blue all over.

"Tweek," I murmured, breathless.

"Let me -Ngh- explain!" Tweek shouted, eyes wide.

"Who did this to you? Is someone hurting you? Is it Craig?" My voice quieted. "Your parents?"

Tweek glared at me. "No! Nobody did -ngh- this. I just -ngh- bruise really easy, I swear. Half of these, I don't know how -Gah- I got them!" He ran his hands through his blond hair in frustration.

"I like to wear the -Gah- coverup because people always think that my parents hit -ngh- me, and they don't!" Tweek snapped, tugging on his long hair.

"Calm down! Okay, I believe you!" I shot back, "I just got freaking worried because you look like you got mugged!"

"I'm sorry," Tweek apologized, his voice so soft I could hardly catch it.

"It's fine," I sighed, running my hands on my face in relief.

Tweek bit his lip. "Is it -ngh- okay if I kiss you?" he asked politely. I shook my head no. "Okay," he mumbled.

I gestured back to the downstairs. "Let's finish the movie," I said. Tweek nodded silently. He went to grab my hand, but thought differently of it and shoved his fists in his pockets.


	3. Chapter 3

**I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK**

**There's this part of me that wishes that for once I could find a normal fandom to chillax in. Like Doctor Who, or Harry Potter, or Divergent. But nope, I, only a few weeks from being 14, decided to invest my time into watching all 3 seasons of fucking Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi. **

**Yay me. So this is short, but I do not care.**

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_TWEEK'S POV_

EXT. TWEEK'S BACK YARD. MORNING. 

Craig has come over uninvited today. He claims that he wants to hang out, but I don't think that's why he dropped by. I think he wants to keep me from Kyle.

It's been a week since Kyle asked me out. And the big Spring Dance is tomorrow. We've been actually going pretty well; Kyle seems to enjoy himself around me a lot more. He's even let me kiss him, although he won't let us make out yet. He was supposed to come over today, but now Craig is over.

We are outside, eating snacks while I try to get my parakeet to play in the snow. His wings are clipped, so he can't fly away, and his foot is attached to a string so that I don't have to watch over him.

Craig swallows his food and sits down next to me, running his finger down my parakeet's back. He looks like something is bothering him. I do too, but it's only because he's decided to ruin my date.

Craig: You're still out with Kyle, huh?

Me: Yes. I like him. (My tics and interjections are omitted, but please apply them generously to my dialogue.)

Craig turns to inspect my expression, then looks back at the ground.

Craig: Look, Tweek, I'm really sorry to tell you this, but... Kyle's only going out with you because I threatened him. I told him that if he hurt you, I was going to strip him naked and hurl him into the pond.

Me: That's sweet, Craig, but you're not going to split us apart.

Craig: I'm not trying to! Well, maybe a little. But what I'm saying is that he doesn't love you because he wants to. He's with you because he fears for his own safety.

I stare at Craig for a long time, because I don't know if he's lying or not. When I decide that he's telling the truth, or at least as much of the truth as I care to know, I sigh heavily in defeat.

Me: Give me one more night.

Craig: Excuse me?

Me: I want to give him the chance to fall in love with me. Just let me have one more night and then you can tell him.

Craig thinks this over, drawing his eyebrows together thoughtfully. He eventually nods, standing up.

Craig: You want me to leave?

Me: Yes. I gotta call Kyle over.

Craig: Okay.

He gives me a sad stare before heading off. I watch him stroll through my backyard gate for a moment before pulling my mobile out of my pocket and dialing Kyle's number. Kyle picks up on the third ring.

Kyle: Hello?

Me: It's Tweek.

Kyle: I figured. I have caller ID.

Me: Sorry. Hey, anyways, do you wanna hang out today?

Kyle: Sure. I'll be over in five.

We hang up.

I set the timer on my watch for five minutes and wait for Kyle to come. I decide that my parakeet's had quite enough of the cold weather, and I scoop him up, heading back into my house holding him to my chest.

INT. TWEEK'S HOUSE. MORNING.

We step upstairs and I drop him into his birdie cage. I check my watch.

Two minutes have gone by.

I go downstairs and prepare myself a cup of coffee, careful to take my time and put in lots of extra milk and sugar. My dad tells me a metaphor that goes void in my ears and I drink the coffee lackadaisically. I send my watch a glance.

Four minutes have gone by.

I finish the coffee and throw it in the sink. I head upstairs and make a big deal of changing into neater clothes and brushing my teeth. I redo my makeup and head back downstairs. I check my watch again.

Six minutes have gone by.

He's late.

I watch television with Dad, going through a whole program of old people cartoons. I make myself some cereal and eat it quickly.

Twenty seven minutes have passed.

He's very late.

I go upstairs and clean my room, making sure to get rid of my old clothes, garbage, and the crumpled pieces of brainstorming paper I've written my scripts on. I check my Facebook feed, and then play a round of a shooter game.

Fifty minutes have slipped away.

He's extremely late.

Annoyed, I slam my computer mouse down an head to the living room. Moments later I hear the door bell ring. I race to it and answer it, ecstatic when I see Kyle's face. I hide my excitement.

Me: You said five minutes.

Kyle: I got held up with chores. Sorry, man.

Me: It's alright. I was just anxious to talk to you.

We make idle chat before I lead us downstairs.

INT. TWEEK'S BASEMENT. AFTERNOON.

Kyle decides to play a video game and so we race karts for a half an hour. After our fourth or so race, I pause the game.

Me: Hey, can you be honest?

Kyle: Sure.

Kyle's confused. He thinks I know something he doesn't, but if my suspicions are right, he's wrong. Or something like that; I'm confused. Kyle's eyebrows scrunch together.

Kyle: So what's up?

Me: Well Craig told me that you're only with me because he's threatening you...

Kyle: ...

Kyle: ...

Kyle: ...

Me: Well?

Kyle: ...

Kyle: I'm so sorry.

Me: Oh.

We sit there for a long time, neither of us moving, neither of us talking. My chest feels heavy as all my fears are validated. It's hard to breathe, but I manage to pull through.

Then Kyle leans in, capturing my lips in his. I whimper softly, wondering why he wants to tempt me with this idea when we both know his heart isn't in it. I decidedly forget about caring, instead focusing on tangling my fingers in his hair and dominating him.

Kyle grins into our kiss, pulling back and then pecking my cheek innocently. I whine. He smirks. We both hastily lock lips again.

This goes on for the next half hour, until we both pull away panting and sweating. I glare at Kyle, with my senses finally regained, and my mind apart from our hazy embrace.

Me: The fuck was that?

Kyle does not reply, but instead just smiles as if I had complimented him.

Me: So... since Craig's threat is kind of void, would you still care to go with me for the dance?

Kyle responds, and my heart explodes.


End file.
